Now let's forget about our troubles with a big cone of soft serve ice cream

I was working from home this afternoon, appropriately social distanced.

I hear the familiar tune of Greensleeves, which can only mean one thing:

MR. WHIPPY VAN~!

Now I've heard its siren call previously, always on a Friday afternoon in daylight savings time, as the sun blazes through the afternoon and the weekend grows near.

Occasionally I've bought the kids an ice cream.

But this afternoon, none of the kids are home.

I race out to the street anyway.

I wait patiently in front of my driveway and when the van arrives, I buy an ice-cream. I didn't take a photo of it, but it was like this...

Image: D.R. Hesh photography

...except roughly half the size and with nuts instead of sprinkles.

So actually, nothing like the photo, other than them both being soft-serve ice creams.

In hindsight, I've rationalised this purchase as helping a small business owner out in difficult times. And it does. But really, that was like, maybe my fourth thought. Maybe even fifth?

My first thought was definitely: it's the end of the world and I want a fucking ice-cream.

My last thought was definitely: so it turns out I really don't like Mr. Whippy ice-cream that much.